


Animal

by CanonCannon



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Fighting, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misunderstandings, NOT Cheery, Past Abuse, Pre-Slash, Shamelessly Mischaracterizing Alex, Terrible Holiday Fic, Unacknowledged Crushes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 22:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8942236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanonCannon/pseuds/CanonCannon
Summary: Prompt: VacationDaryl gulps down some gin—not his favorite drink, but under the circumstances he’ll take it—as he listens to the man who used to fuck his roommate talk about some place called Belize. (This is sort of a reimagined version of Daryl's breakdown at the moonshine still.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I could only think of one idea for the prompt, and unfortunately this was it.
> 
> Third square for the Desus Writing Group's Holiday Bingo Challenge!

Daryl gulps down some gin—not his favorite drink, but under the circumstances he’ll take it—as he listens to the man who used to fuck his roommate talk about some place called Belize.

“Arpi and I went for Christmas, right before everything happened, and we did _nothing_. We had a ton of stuff planned, the usual…scuba, a wildlife reserve, dinner at some fancy seafood place… but we just sat on our butts on the beach and got sunburned.”

The snow is temporarily trapping Alex in his and Paul’s trailer. The young nurse had come by for their (i.e. Paul’s) Christmas get-together and stayed to “help clean up,” which was bullshit because it took all of five minutes to put away a deck of cards and wash a few glasses.

Paul laughs and replies, “Oh, God, I was the opposite. In Peru I had to go to every museum, every ruin. I refused to miss a single thing that I’d highlighted in the guidebook. Max got soroche in Cusco and I left him alone at the AirBnB with a mug of coca tea and a book.” He takes a sip from the bottle of red wine he and Alex seem to be splitting.

Alex smirks (flirtatiously, Daryl thinks) and says, “Yep, that sounds like you.”

Daryl takes another large gulp of liquor. It’s just medicinal, not at all in response to the way Alex fluttered a hand to Paul’s knee. His chest still hurts a bit from the cold he’s getting over and the gin is having a pleasant numbing effect on the pain.

The snowstorm outside had become a whiteout at some point while Alex fucked around pretending to clean. Paul, because he just had to be _Jesus_ , offered Alex his bed, like it was some big fucking treacherous journey to the main house where Alex has a perfectly good room all to himself. So Daryl is stuck listening to the obnoxious man yap on and on about places the redneck hasn’t even heard of, let alone visited on vacation.

It’s unclear where Paul plans to sleep, and that ambiguity is causing Daryl to have a silent, unacknowledged meltdown.

Alex continues, “I miss travel more than anything else. I mean not more than people, friends and family, but more than hot showers or restaurants or nice clothes, you know? It was just so… so enriching. The stuff that makes us human... art, architecture, history, life experiences… it’s, like, gone by the wayside. Now all we think about is survival, as if we've become animals.”

Survival is all Daryl’s ever had time for, even before the Turn. _Guess that makes me an animal._

And Paul—Paul is nodding along. Paul agrees with that pile of horseshit.

Daryl stands abruptly, grabs his coat from the hook, and walks out into the snow storm. He takes the gin with him.

It’s not snowing all that heavily anymore, thankfully. The hunter wanders the grounds for a couple of hours, sitting for a long while in the hayloft and drinking more gin than he should in an effort not to think about what the two ‘friends’ are getting up to in the trailer. He only starts to head back once he’s pretty sure they’ll be sleeping.

 _Probably in the same bed_ , Daryl thinks, and dejection settles over him thicker than the blanket of snow on the ground. Finishing the gin, he chucks the bottle over the wall of the settlement and rounds the corner of the barn near the trailer.

Paul and Alex aren’t asleep. Instead they’re hovering near the trailer’s steps in their coats, hats, and scarves. The glow from the Christmas lights Paul had put up in a fit of whimsy casts strange shadows over them. Through the haze of alcohol, Daryl finds it menacing.

“Where have you been?” Paul hisses, grabbing hold of Daryl’s sleeve and dragging him towards their home. “I was about to wake up Maggie. Get in there.”

Startled by the sudden, unwarranted attack, Daryl looks instinctively towards Alex, hoping to at least get an explanation for why Paul is overreacting so drastically—but of course the useless asshole doesn’t help at all. “Well, now that he’s home I’ll say goodnight. See you guys tomorrow,” the nurse says, an odd, distracted expression on his handsome face.

Paul doesn’t even say goodnight to his ex-boyfriend; he’s too busy shoving Daryl unceremoniously into their trailer. “Have you been outside this whole time?” the scout demands angrily. “We thought you were smoking, maybe, but then you didn’t come back. Alex looked around the house, I checked all your usual little hiding places out on the grounds—Daryl, you _just_ got better, what were you thinking?”

“Thought you two might want some privacy,” Daryl grunts, wrestling his way clumsily out of his coat. He’s too fucking drunk to deal with Paul right now.

“Bullshit. You knew we wouldn’t want you out in the worst snowstorm of the year after having pneumonia for two weeks.”

“Wasn’t even that bad out,” the hunter contradicts stubbornly, trying to unwrap the laces from around his ankles. He can’t feel his hands.

“You’re frozen,” Paul frets, pacing a bit before going to Daryl’s shelves and pulling down his warmest pajama bottoms. “Honestly, what the hell is wrong with you? I get that you don’t like Alex-”

“He’s fine,” Daryl breaks in unconvincingly.

Paul doesn’t even pause to acknowledge the lie. “But that was reckless. Your lungs aren’t in the best shape yet… I was seriously worried, Daryl. And Alex, Alex just got you back to feeling better-”

Daryl snorts quietly.

“Ok, really, _what_ is this issue you have with him? He’s been nothing but kind to you since you got here.”

Shrugging moodily, the older man tries to dodge the subject. “Already said, weren’t that cold. M’fine. Weren’t no need for you two to come lookin’ for me—just bein’ drama queens.” He’s finally managed to get one boot off and starts working on the other one.

Paul stills. “Drama queens- Oh. Oh, of course.” He laughs, but it’s an ugly sound. Daryl’s ears and the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably. The scout had been irritated before, but now something’s different—Daryl has seriously fucked up somehow. “I’m guessing you figured out that Alex and I used to sleep together? And that… upset you?”

Heart pounding, the hunter goes red all over, thinking _No, no, no, I can’t have been that obvious._ He tries to focus on untying his other boot lace but his hands fumble incriminatingly.

Paul inhales sharply and continues, “Oh God, that’s really it, isn’t it? You were uncomfortable because you were alone in a room with two gay men.”

Daryl almost laughs at the irony of that accusation but he keeps himself in check. Paul moves towards him, and it suddenly occurs to the redneck that Hilltop’s best fighter is angry, _really_ angry, and it’s all about to rain down on him.

And he’s too drunk and numb from the cold to defend himself properly if things get out of hand.

“Don’t give a shit about that,” Daryl hedges. His second boot finally comes off and the hunter stands and moves towards the tiny bathroom with the flannel pants, needing a door between them.

“He says, as he goes to hide in the bathroom to change,” Paul snarks. Daryl halts his stride. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice that little habit, or figure out the reason for it? Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m ogling _you_ , Dixon.” He waves his hand around as if disgusted by the very idea.

Daryl flinches, and he honestly couldn’t say if it’s at the sudden motion or the implication.

This is what Paul thinks of him, he realizes, heart sinking.

He’d thought they were becoming friends.

The scout continues pushing into his space. “I was just being nice, inviting Alex to crash here. We wouldn’t have made you _uncomfortable_ … I mean, maybe you were raised thinking gay men just go at it like animals or something, but we can control-”

“ _He_ called _me_ a fucking animal,” Daryl growls, twisting away and trying to stop Paul from cornering him.

It brings the other man up short. “What, Alex said that? When?“ His tone is bewildered rather than angry, but when Daryl tries to move around him he reaches out in a flash to grab at the older man.

Lost in bad memories, Daryl explodes.

“Cause I ain’t never been on vacation. Ain’t even been to a fuckin’ museum. Left Georgia for the first time last year. And… and you want to know why I change in the damn bathroom?” He knows he should stop, that this is a step he’ll regret, but he’s drunk and upset and _hurt_ , damn it, so he yanks up his shirt and turns around. Hearing Paul’s gasp fills him with satisfaction and shame. “Ugly, huh? My daddy,” Daryl gulps and, for the first time ever, he says the truth aloud, “Daddy didn’t want no faggot for a son.”

Silence fills the room and Daryl lets his shirt fall. He’d been right to think he’d regret that step; the feeling floods in immediately when he catches a glimpse of Paul’s white face and open-mouthed gawping expression. Daryl shoves past the other man to get his coat again, letting him stumble backwards unheeded.

The hunter has his boots on before his stunned roommate even moves. When Paul finally unsticks his joints enough to walk, he places himself between Daryl and the door.

They stare at each other. Paul’s eyes are glistening and Daryl hates that.

“I’m sorry,” the scout croaks out. “I’m… god, Daryl, I’m so…”

“Just get the fuck out of my way.”

“No,” Paul says firmly. “No, I’m going to go, alright? You stay here. You’re not getting sick again because of me.”

“The hell do you care? You think I’m some- some kinda-” God, Daryl wishes now that he hadn’t had the gin because he’s tearing up over this shit. He’s a mess when he drinks. Sniffling and hiding his face, he turns his back on Paul completely.

The other man takes a deep breath and says gently, “Daryl. Daryl, I owe you about a hundred apologies. Where should I start?”

Daryl doesn’t respond. When Paul pulls him into a hug after a few moments, he’s too miserable, tired, and drunk to pull away.

Neither leaves the trailer that night, but they don’t talk much more either. They simply fall asleep side by side on the couch, lulled by alcohol and cooling emotions.

The next morning Paul says seriously, “You know Alex is just a pretentious prick, right?”

“Yeah,” Daryl acknowledges, slowly pulling off his sleep shirt then quickly snapping on his black button-down. “That why you two hit it off?”

The men exchange a small smile, and it's some kind of beginning between them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Soroche is altitude sickness. Coca tea is a local treatment for it.
> 
> Quick note to add: obviously this is supposed to be set quite soon (~two weeks) after Daryl is rescued, so Jesus doesn't know him all that well yet. Even so, Jesus is definitely ooc judgy here... I'll say it's because he had too much wine with Alex, because the other option is just blaming my bad writing :-P


End file.
